by Bram Stoker
When he saw Esse his instinct and his knowledge jumped to one conclusion - that there was some secret cause for her low condition, but with characteristic caution he did not betray himself. He then and there determined to take an early opportunity of learning from the girl herself how matters stood. To this end he had a long talk with Mrs Elstree, and in the course of it gathered all the events, great and small, of the life at Shasta. Not content with Mrs Elstree’s confidence, he took an opportunity of learning the opinions of Miss Gimp, and thus armed, he felt himself fairly confident of finding out in his talk with Esse the true inwardness of things.
The next morning he came to breakfast with his mind made up as to how he should discuss affairs with Esse. He knew already from her mother all that that dear lady knew, including her put-aside suspicion of an attachment between Esse and Dick, and as he had discovered her mother was manifestly not in Esse’s secret, whatever it might be, he knew that there was need for extreme caution. To this end he determined that time should not be of vital importance, for the telling of a secret means on a woman’s part a gradual yielding to her own wishes, and a not impossible accompaniment of tears; so he opened the matter with a frank remark:
‘You’re not looking well, Esse! Too many dances and sittings-out in the conservatory. Suppose you put on your bonnet and come with me for a drive. A whiff of sea air will do us both good.’ Esse looked at her mother appealingly, and on her nodding acquiescence, assented joyfully, so Peter Blyth went off to look for a buggy suitable to the occasion. He shortly drove up in a very snappy one, with a pair of horses that looked like 2:40 speed. Esse came to the stoop with a lighter footstep than she had used for many a day, and, her mother noticing it, said to herself, with a sigh of relief, ‘The dear child is only tired. She feels already with Peter like her old self.’
As they swept up and down the steep hills that lay between them and the Pacific Peter Blyth tried his best to put and keep Esse in a gay humour. He told her all his best and newest stories, and so interested her with all the little things which had happened in her London home since she had last seen it, that when they came to Sutro Heights Esse was looking more like her old - or, rather, her new - self than she had done since she had parted with Dick at Shasta.
Peter put up his trap at the Cliff House, and having ordered luncheon for a couple of hours later, the two strolled out along the beach to the southward. When they had gone some distance they sat down on a patch of sea grass and looked around them. Below their feet, beyond a narrow strip of yellow sand, was the vast blue of the silent Pacific, its breast scarcely moved by the ripple of a passing breeze. Southwards the headlands, dimly blue and purple, ran out, tier upon tier, into the sea; northwards the mountains towered brown above the Golden Gate. Both were impressed with the full, silent beauty of the scene, and for a time neither spoke. Then Peter, turning to Esse, said:
‘What is it, dear, that is troubling you?’ Esse started, and a vivid blush swept swiftly over her face, and then left her pale.
What do you mean?’ was her answer, given in a faint voice. For reply Peter took both her hands in his, and said:
‘Look here, little girl, that’s the first time in all your life that you ever asked me what I meant. Do you really mean, Esse, that you don’t understand? Tell me, dear! I only want to help you! Don’t you know what I mean?’
Esse’s ‘yes,’ came in a faint voice. Peter went on:
‘Now that clears the ground. We understand each other. Tell me all about it, Esse! Confession is good for the soul; and I don’t think you’ll ever find a softer-hearted father confessor than your old friend.’
‘Must I tell, Peter?’ She spoke in an appealing way, but it was manifest to him that she wished to be treated in such a way that her natural obedience would help her. So he smiled a broad, genial smile, and seeing that her face brightened, he attempted a chastened laugh, and flung some of his good-humoured man-of-the-world philosophy at her:
‘Look here, little girl, when we human beings have any secret that’s pretty difficult to tell, and that we had rather not tell our mothers, it’s generally about the opposite sex. When it’s a girl that has to do the telling, well! she’s best off when she can get it off her chest to some sympathetic soul that won’t give her away. Nature demands that she tells some one, and that some one must be either a friend or the Other Fellow. If it’s the Other Fellow then there’s no need to tell the friend! But in that case there are rosy cheeks instead of pale ones, and the harmonies of life are set in a full major key instead of the minor. See?’ Esse nodded. Peter continued:
‘I’ll help you all I can, little girl, now and hereafter. Your father was my dearest friend, and one of his last acts was to write to me asking me to look after you and your mother, and to do what I could for you both. If he were here, my dear, you wouldn’t need to talk to me! Shut your eyes, little girl, and pretend that he is with you, and open out your heart to him. Don’t fear to! Every girl has to, and it is well for them that there are fathers and brothers and friends, to whom they can speak; for otherwise there would be a deal more sorrow in the world even than there is! Esse took his hand in hers and turned away her head, hiding her face with her other hand, and said in a low voice:
‘I want to see Dick!’ Peter’s reply was given with heartiness, although her words sent a mild chill through him. He had almost come to this conclusion already, and he saw trouble - possibly great trouble - ahead for his little friend:
‘Grizzly Dick! I’ve heard all about him, and a mighty fine fellow he must be. No wonder you want to see him, little girl, after all you and he went through together. When your mother was telling me last night about the bears, I was looking at the skins of the two monsters, and thinking that I’d like to shake hands with the fellow that shared that danger with you, and that you were so good to!’
Esse said nothing, but he could tell by the pressure of her fingers on his hand that his words touched her, so he waited a minute or two before going on. Then he asked suddenly:
‘Esse, do you want to see him so badly? Is he all the world to you, so that his not being here makes life, with all the good things which it has for you, of no account? Tell me! Speak freely; don’t be afraid!’ Esse turned her face round, and her eyes were all swimming with unfallen tears. At this moment her heart was full of Dick, and she could look unabashed at Peter whilst she spoke:
‘Oh, yes! I want to see him so. The whole world seems so small and cramped without him! If I could only see him for a moment it would be like feeling the wind blowing down from Shasta - like hearing the roar of the falling water - like the sound of the forest coming up at the dawn! It all seems so little here, and he is so brave and strong, and moves through life as though he were born to rule it!’ Peter Blyth sat silent, amazed. The young girl’s poetic phrases, her full, passionate way of speaking; the very openness of her avowal, were all strange and new to him, and he felt that he must learn more, and then consider well his store of knowledge; so again he asked her:
‘Esse, do you think you love him?’ She immediately began to cry quietly, and it was only when he had petted and comforted her a little that she was able to reply:
‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ and Peter muttered to himself: ‘Hanged if I do, either!’ then he went on with his questioning: “Now, tell me just one thing - I only want your opinion - do you think he loves you?’ ‘He never told me so.’
‘No, but what do you think?’ Esse turned to him with all the coquetry of her nature ablaze, and asked:
What do you think?’ Peter Blyth instantly laughed a merry, wholesome laugh which seemed somehow to find an echo in the very recesses of Esse’s soul. Somewhere there was hope and comfort for her. This winning trust in a man’s power to smooth matters, and the consequent shifting of the burden from her own shoulders was beginning already to work for her recovery. She laughed too, though the laugh smote Peter with pain, for it was like the ghost of her old cheery laugh; but he was glad to hear any approac
h to merriment, and took advantage of the occasion.
‘Come on! Let us get to lunch, and then we shall be able to think better. We know now; our next step will be to see what is best to be done, and then to do it!’ Esse took his outstretched hand, and so, hand-in-hand, they walked by the sea together. Suddenly he stopped and said:
‘Look here, little girl, you mustn’t go into the hotel with your eyes like that. They’d think that I was the lover, and that I had been quarrelling with you!’ He put his hand into his pocket and took out a tiny parcel which he handed to her. Esse took it with curiosity and opened it. Out fluttered a gauzy veil.
Well, I do declare!’ she said, ‘I believe this is a put-up job, and that you expected me to cry, and were prepared for it.’
‘Of course I did,’ said Peter, boldly. ‘What else did I come out here for except that you and I might be alone, and that you could tell me your troubles! I knew you would cry! all girls do - under the circumstances!’ and he laughed a resonant and ease-giving laugh. So she took his arm and they walked back to the hotel.
CHAPTER 7
When her mother saw Esse, her heart was filled with gladness, for her pallor had given way to a cheerful tinge of rose, and her manner was buoyant and exhilarated. ‘Well, I declare,’ said she, turning to Peter Blyth, ‘an hour or two with you has done her more good than all the doctors in San Francisco in three months. You must take her in hand, and prescribe for her a bit, if you will.’ By this time Esse had tripped upstairs to get ready for tea, and Peter, seeing his opportunity, wished to get from Mrs Elstree a comprehensive consent to whatever he might see well to do. All the way home, after lunch, whilst Esse had been chattering to him with all the energy of an emancipated soul, he had been thinking. The problem which he had to solve was a difficult one, and he felt that all his diplomatic acumen would be required. He could not believe that his highly cultured, refined little friend Esse whose fastidiousness, even in her babyhood, had been a little joke in the family, could be really in love with a rough, unmannered trapper. And yet he could not deceive himself that at the present time Esse had an absorbing desire to meet the man; that the unsatisfied desire was sapping her health, and that it would be necessary to take the matter seriously as the only chance of an ultimate solution of the difficulty. It might be that Esse’s craving was for the mountain as well as the man; that the place and its possibilities, its adventures, its bracing qualities, the stimulation of the high mountain air and the whole wild, free exuberance which had come into her life at the moment when her womanhood was developing, and as cure for her failing health, had seized on her imagination. In such case, her sense of contrast and the strongly humorous side of her character would be her best protection. In any case, the man was at present so inextricably mixed up in her mind with his surroundings that without his presence no disentanglement could take place. Of course, it might be that when Esse should see him the vague desire for his presence might become an actuality, and that nothing short of marriage with him would content her. If so, then the chance must be taken, for it could not be allowed that her present declining health should not be considered; and if marriage became a necessity, at least Esse had at her disposal all the means of comfort for them both. In a word, the argument ran in his mind: if she should not see Dick she would in all probability fade away and die. If she should see him, one of two things must happen - she would become disenchanted, which was all desirable, or her infatuation would increase until it ended in an undesirable marriage. In any case she must see him.
She must see him - that was certain; and this conclusion having been arrived at, Peter’s next point was as to the most advisable way of this accomplishment. There was already experience of the ill effects of her seeing him when his foot was on his native heath. There he was paramount, and his whole personality gathered round itself the romance of the surroundings. If Esse were to see him on Shasta under her present psychic and nervous condition, she would simply tumble head over ears in love with him. There was nothing at all to the contrary; whereas if she were to see him in the midst of her present refined surroundings, she could not help contrasting him with them, with a result that could not altogether tend to further infatuation. Dick therefore must come to San Francisco! Peter felt that his logic was complete, and that no further thought on that part of the subject was required. Thus he had driven up to California Street with his mind so far at rest, and his only present intent that Mrs Elstree should, without even guessing at his knowledge, be content to leave the affair in his hands. So when Esse had gone to her room he turned to Mrs Elstree and said:
‘Do you really wish me to prescribe?’
‘Most certainly! Look at the effect of your first dose!’
‘And you will not blame me if anything should happen that you don’t contemplate; or as you should not wish?’ Mrs Elstree put both her hands in his and said:
‘Peter Blyth whatever you do will be for Esse’s good. That is your intention I am sure. I know it; and my dear husband knew it. None of us are infallible; but you are at least a true friend and a clever man. Do what you will for my dear child’s good. Nothing can be worse than to see her fading away from me, as it has been my misery to watch for months past.’ She turned away her head, but Peter could see that she was crying as she left the room. When she returned she was cheerful, though there were traces of tears in her eyes. Women have a sort of fixed idea that bathing the eyes with watered eau-de-cologne will remove traces of tears; it is a happy belief, saving much small humiliation, and there are men generous enough to pretend that they are deceived!
After dinner Peter Blyth sat with Esse in the back of the drawing-room, whilst her mother in the music-room opening from it played Liszt and Chopin. His manner was hearty, and his laugh so cheery, that it would have been impossible for Esse to have in his presence been under the domination of any brooding or love-sick fancies, so she fell into the buoyant mood. Now that the strain of keeping her secret was past she felt able to discuss it without doing violence to her feelings. Peter opened the battle with a point-blank shot:
‘I have thought all over what you told me, and I have come to a conclusion.’ Esse’s heart seemed to cease to beat, and she simply listened. ‘I think Dick had better come here!’ A blush rose under the girl’s eyes, and steadily grew, till cheeks and forehead, and ears and neck, were all flushed to a deep crimson. She put her hands before her fact but still sat silent. Peter went on:
‘I take it, Esse, that this has your approval?’ She nodded.
‘I take it also that it is your wish?’ Again she nodded.
‘I take it also that I may - that you wish me to convey to Dick the strong feeling that you have towards him, the keen desire to see him,’ - here Esse broke in:
‘Oh, Peter, must that be?’
‘I fear, my dear, that it will be necessary. He might not be willing to come without such assurance. You see he does not know me at all!’
‘But wouldn’t it be like my asking him?’ Peter laughed cheerfully:
‘It would be uncommonly like it. There is no possible mistake about that! But then the whole thing is uncommon! It is not common that you should care for a man away outside the class you have been reared in; the occasions that threw you together were uncommon. It is uncommon that I should be holding this conversation with you all the time that your mother is playing there in the next room so uncommonly well. I take it also that I had better let Dick know that there may be - later on - a more tender feeling between you? Esse paused. It seemed to her like the probing of a wound this questioning by Peter; and yet it was done with the same matter-of-factness which distinguishes the work of an able surgeon. The wounded have to suffer, and it does not matter if the wound be inflicted by a bullet, or an arrow, or a knife. But there was about the whole thing a sort of business atmosphere, something which tends to suppress romance and to bring into unpleasant prominence the sternest facts; and Esse could not but feel that she was rather following up the logic of the part tha
n expressing her present feelings when she replied from behind her sheltering hands:
‘I suppose so!’
‘Good!’ said Peter. Now I know exactly where I am!’ and he rose up to join his hostess in the music-room, whilst Esse lay back amongst the deep cushions of her chair, thinking what a queer place the world is, when even the realization of one’s wishes is not a matter of unqualified happiness, and beginning to wonder if Dick would think it strange of her sending such a message. Then she began to wonder how her San Francisco friends with their fastidiousness, their fondness for the ridiculous side of things, and their haughty pride at times, would look on Dick. And then she began to think how Dick would look amongst his new and unaccustomed surroundings. A thousand little traits and habits of his, which she now wished that she had forgotten, recalled themselves to her memory, and she thought it would have been better that she had not told Peter so much, until, at all events, she had some opportunity of seeing that Dick was better schooled to conventional usages. But that could never be until Peter told him! The whole thing was getting so tangled that she could not follow it; and so she stole out of the room, leaving Peter talking to her mother as she played on, and went to bed.